


Getting Stuffed For Thanksgiving

by koganphrancis



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: A sort of OC sprung from the hell that is canon, Canon level slurs and comments, If you think canon is doing a great job with trans issues probably skip this, M/M, Smut, Some readers found some parts transphobic, thanksgiving smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 18:53:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8634097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koganphrancis/pseuds/koganphrancis
Summary: Based on this post I saw online: http://koganphrancis.tumblr.com/post/153341388978/orchidbreezefc-its-that-time-of-year
A Thanksgiving story to warm our hearts.





	

**Alone on Thanksgiving? Mad at your dad?**

**casual encounters**

I am a 25 year old felon with no high school degree, and a dirty old van one year younger than me painted like Eddie Van Halen’s guitar. I can play anywhere between the ages of 20 and 29 depending on if i shave. I’m a line cook and work late nights at a bar. If you’d like to have me as your strictly platonic date for Thanksgiving, but have me pretend to be in a very long or serious relationship with you, to torment your family, I’m game.

I can do these things, at your request:                                                                                        

openly hit on other female guests while you act like you don’t notice.

start instigative discussions about politics and/or religion.

propose to you in front of everyone.

pretend to be really drunk as the evening goes on (sorry, i dont drink, but i used to, alot, too much in fact, i know the drill).

Start an actual, physical fight with a family member, either inside or on the front lawn for all the neighbors to see.

I require no pay but the free meal i will receive as a guest!

**do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers**

One hour into the car ride and Ian was totally regretting his decision to accompany his new…not boyfriend, not yet, too damn soon…fuck buddy?-person he was seeing?-whatever, back to his family’s house for Thanksgiving.

Brad had been bitching since he picked Ian up, and the fact that the roadways were jammed with holiday travelers and he couldn’t drive his usual 70 mph was just making him more hostile.

“I’m telling ya, man, my sister Cynthia’s a real bitch and she hates it that she perceives me as getting all the attention for being trans while she’s just in college. She’s pissed my grandparents are always handing me money every time I see them and she says they never give her a cent, which they don’t, but my hormones are expensive, you know?”

Ian knew he shouldn’t bother, but it was a long ride and he was sick of biting his tongue all this time so he asked, “Well, isn’t college expensive too? Where does she go?”

“Northwestern, but she can get student loans…”

“Which she has to pay back,” Ian fairly pointed out. “She’s their grandchild too, they should at least make an attempt to keep it even.”

Brad pouted in silence for the next twenty minutes and Ian counted that as a win.

The trip usually took an hour, which was part of how Brad convinced Ian to go with him (“It’s not that far!”), but because of traffic took over an hour and a half. Brad found more shit to bitch about once he got over his pout-he told Ian not to bring up politics unless he wanted to witness World War Three, and he ranted a good five minutes about how his parents would make them sleep in separate rooms and enforce that they stayed there.

“I’m sorry, Red, I didn’t even bother packing the cocks or condoms,” Brad said, looking at Ian forlornly at a red light. Ian felt a vast relief wash over him.

“Light’s green,” was his only reply. Brad took that as Ian being as disappointed as he was, and squeezed his thigh.

They pulled up in front of Brad’s parents’ house, a split level ranch eerily identical to all the other houses on the street with it. The driveway was full of cars an there was a full size van already parked in front of the house. The backdoors of the faded navy blue van were painted to look like the back pockets on Levi jeans, which is exactly what Ian happened to be wearing. He gave a delighted little laugh when he saw them.

“What the fuck is this?” Brad hissed. “Whose van is that?” Since Ian knew no one at this gathering but Brad, he just shrugged. Ian and Brad got out of Brad’s Toyota and got their bags out of the trunk, they were staying until Sunday.

Walking up the driveway, Brad turned back to look at the van and sucked in his breath. “The fuck is that all about?” he said. Ian looked back and grinned. The side of the van they could now see was painted bright red with white and black lines wildly painted all over it.

“It’s like Eddie Van Halen’s guitar,” Ian said. “Frank worships him.”

“It looks like something out of a crazy person’s nightmares,” Brad sniffed. Ian raised an eyebrow, but kept his mouth shut, yet again. Ian started walking back down the driveway.

“Where are you going?” Brad called after him, but since he was jogging to catch up, why bother to ask?

“I want to see how the rest of it’s painted,” Ian said. “I’m curious.”

The front of the van had the iconic Van Halen VH logo painted on the hood on a dark blue background, and then the other side of the van was the red, black, and white of Eddie’s guitar again.

The driver’s side door flew open and a decidedly scruffy looking man jumped down from the driver’s seat.

“Well, well, well, look who we have here! Hey, babe? Is this the infamous Brad and his shiny new boyfriend?”

A disheveled looking brunette in her early twenties leaned over from the passenger seat, hooking up her front hooking bra under her completely unbuttoned blouse. “Yeah, that’s him, with the brown hair,” she said. “Hi, Brad!”

Brad shot her a dirty look.

“So that means Fire Crotch is the new boyfriend. Glad to meet ya boys, I’m Mickey, Cyndi’s old man.” He stuck his hand out, it didn’t look all that clean, Brad ignored the hand to glare at his sister some more.

“Ian, Ian Gallagher,” Ian said, shaking the hand.

“I’m not too good with remembering names,” Mickey said, pausing to belch. “Do you mind if I call you Fire Crotch?”

“Why not? Half the time Brad can’t remember it either and calls me Red,” Ian said, amused.

Mickey raised an eyebrow. “Hell, it’s only a few letters, I’ll try to remember, _Ian_ ,” he said.

“Cyn, get the hell out of there!” Brad ordered. “Have you even been inside yet? We’re at least half an hour late, so you must be too…”

“You’re not the boss of me,” Cynthia said, finally done buttoning her blouse and opening her own door to jump down from the van. She walked over to where the guys were and shook Ian’s hand. “Hi, and, sorry already. Whenever we gather, my brother and I revert to our childhood selves, I’m afraid. He never did like it that I’m the big sister. I’m Cyndi, and this is my boyfriend, Mickey.”

“Christ, Cynthia, when mom said you had some longtime boyfriend you had kept secret, I figured you were just telling her that to keep her off your back, but now I see why you’ve kept this,” he looked Mickey up and down, “hidden.”

“Hey…” Mickey growled.

“Come on, Brad,” Ian said, stepping in between them. “You’ve had a long drive, your blood sugar’s probably low.” Ian shot Mickey a wink over Brad’s head. Mickey looked surprised for a second and then covered up a grin by wiping his thumb across his bottom lip. It gave Ian a chance to admire the letters tattooed there. Ian had been surreptitiously checking Mickey out. He was wearing a dark purple button down shirt that had started out life as a dress shirt, but now had the sleeves cut off, the most beat up pair of sneakers Ian ever had seen, and black jeans that hung a little baggy on him. He had thick black hair slicked back, pale skin peeking out under a scruffy, patchy beard, and the most memorable blue eyes Ian had ever seen. Hidden in the middle of the beard was a mouth that obviously liked to run, but Ian was more interested in the plump lips.

“We haven’t been in yet,” Cyndi admitted.

“We were getting in a last minute motor boating,” Mickey added. “Of course, I wanted more, but no time for that, she said. But if you see the van rocking later, don’t come a-knocking.”

Ian had to bite back a laugh, Brad looked horrified.

The group went in together, Cyndi and Mickey all wrapped up in each other’s arms. She dragged him right up to an older couple first, Brad and Ian trailing behind.

“Mom, Dad! This is my boyfriend Mickey,” Cyndi chirped in a bright voice. “Mickey, this is my dad, Rodney…”

“Rod,” Mickey grinned, saying the name in the dirtiest way possible, and shaking his hand.

“…and my mom Joyce,” Cyndi continued. Mickey stuck out his hand to shake hers as well.

“Oh, dear, um, are those tattoos?” the mother asked, looking at Mickey’s hand askance.

“Sure are, Joyce-hey! Do you have any ink?” Mickey said. Joyce got flustered and started sputtering as Mickey held out both his fists so she could clearly read the FUCK U-UP that was written there-she was blushing beet red. “Oh, I get it, yours are in a place no one can see, huh?” Mickey continued. “Maybe an R on one butt cheek, a D on the other, and the O that god gave you in the middle?” Ian thought he was going to pass out from trying to hold back his laughter. He could sense Brad was fuming next to him.

“MOM,” Brad said in a whining tone. “This is my boyfriend Ian.” Cyndi and Mickey wandered off to say hello to more guests, while pleasantries were exchanged.

“Ian, so nice to meet you. Um, Brad told us you don’t drink caffeine, so I have some chamomile tea I bought for your visit. Would you like a cup?”

“Um, sure, sounds wonderful, thank you. If I could just wash up?” Ian said.

“Hey, Joyce, tea sounds great, wanna get me some too, please?” Mickey yelled from across the room.

Brad showed Ian to the guest room to drop off his bag and then pointed out where the nearest bathroom was and Ian finally had a couple of minutes to himself to laugh. A few minutes later he found Brad in the living room with all the other company, Joyce brought out two tea cups and handed one to Ian and then one to Mickey. Mickey picked the cup up off the saucer, his pinky in the air, and blew across the surface to cool the liquid a bit before taking a sip.

“Man,” Mickey said loudly, after spitting his mouthful back into the teacup, “this stuff’s like having sex in a canoe-it’s fucking near water!” Ian almost snorted tea out of his nose.

“It’s an acquired taste, Mickey,” Ian admitted cheerfully.

“Yo, Rod! Mind if I fix myself a real drink?” Mickey shouted across the room.

“Well, we normally don’t have drinks till after dinner on Thanksgiving…” Rod started to say.

“That’s okay, it’s always five o’clock at Plymouth Rock,” Mickey said.

“Isn’t that Margaritaville?” Ian whispered to Brad with a smile, but Brad didn’t listen. “Party pooper,” Ian thought to himself.

Mickey was behind the makeshift bar Rodney had set up for later in the day.

“Hey, Stoli, that’s good shit,” Mickey called to Rod. Mickey found a big glass, threw some ice from the ice bucket in it, and then practically filled the glass with vodka and then added a splash of tonic water. “Got any limes?”

“In the kitchen, I’ll get them,” Cyndi said. She was back in a flash with a little bowl with a few limes in it and a sharp knife. She pecked Mickey on the lips and went back to talking to an aunt.

Mickey was slicing up a lime when Brad snottily asked, “I don’t suppose you know how to make a dirty martini?”

“Why, yes, Brad, actually I do,” Mickey replied.

“Actually, that would make sense that you can make a _dirty_ martini,” Brad added.

Mickey just rolled his eyes. He found a shaker and put together the ingredients in seconds flat. “Shaken or stirred?”

“Shaken is fine,” Brad murmured.

Mickey shook the container and said, “My night job is at a biker bar. I can make anything you like. Yo, babe, you want a fuzzy navel? Hey, Rod, where the hell is the peach schnapps?” Mickey yelled across the room as he scanned the bottles lined up and didn’t see that particular liquor.

“Mick-ey,” Cyndi said in a sing-song voice, “you know I can’t drink anything until I pee…” and she mimed a motion with her thumb and forefinger on each hand, starting out together and pulling them apart to indicate a stick.

Joyce sat down hard on the nearest chair and clutched her chest. The EMT in Ian went on full alert, but Brad put a hand on his arm when he would’ve gone to her and whispered, “She’s fine-drama queen, senior-that’s where Cyndi gets it from.”

A hush had fallen over the room. Mickey looked around. “Aw, don’t worry-if there’s one thing they really hammer home to you in the joint, it’s always wrap it up. We really don’t think her being a few days late means anything,” he said reassuringly.

“The…joint?” Cynthia’s father struggled to ask.

“Yeah, Stateville. Did a stretch for grand theft auto-wrong place, wrong time, you know? I learned my lesson, though: Don’t get caught. Now I’m working as a line cook during the day, and at that bar at night. Don’t worry, Rod, as soon as I collect for all the coke I fronted before going in, I’ll be able to start helping Cyndi pay the rent,” Mickey explained cheerfully.

“Rent? You’re living with Cyndi and her roommates?” Cyndi lived off campus in an apartment, a big portion of her student loans paying for that, but on-campus housing wasn’t much cheaper, and was much harder to get for upper classmen. Mickey nodded happily.

Mickey was about to hand Brad his drink when he pulled it back, causing Brad to grasp at thin air. “Oh shit, you’re underage, right? If Cyn is twenty-two you’re only twenty-it’s a violation of my parole to hand this to you.” He left it on the bar and called over to Rodney again. “Hey, Rod! Your house, man. You hand the kid the drink and then I’m in the clear.”

As the afternoon went on, Mickey poured himself a couple more drinks, openly flirted with every woman under forty in attendance (offering tours of the back of his van and complimenting them on their breasts with Cyndi right in the room pretending not to care), and needling Brad about his job: “What is it exactly that you do?” and “Can you make a living doing that? Hey, Rod? Rod, how much of the bill are you footing for this kid?” and “Do you think you’ll ever go to college so you can maybe support yourself, or are you hoping on Big Red here to take over where Joyce and Rod leave off?”

Brad bristled and coldly informed Mickey that he’d had a lot to go through the past few years.

“Yeah, that transgender stuff? I can see that to a point, but, ya know, people get through college dealing with medical issues all the time. You seem like you’re strong and healthy now, right?” Mickey said.

“I don’t see how any of it is your business,” Brad said frostily.

“You’re right, it’s not. But it is your family’s business and your sister is a part of this family and maybe you could all sit down for once and come up with a plan where you consider her future as well, not just yours,” Mickey said in a calm and reasonable tone. Brad just walked off in a huff. Mickey looked at Ian. Ian shrugged his shoulders.

When the crowd sat down to dinner, after Cyndi’s father said grace and began to carve up the turkey, Mickey said to the table at large, “How about that election huh? Talk about reasons to be thankful!”

“I’d think you’d just be thankful to be out of prison today-you know, upgraded to ex-con from convict?” Brad said. Ian pressed his leg against Brad’s, trying to silently tell him to pipe down.

“Yeah, well,” Mickey said, giving Brad a calculating look, “he’s gonna make America great again, well-maybe not for you queerbos.” He shot another look right at Brad. “You should’ve seen my old man on election night. When they started predicting who was gonna win, he took off his shirt and went running around the neighborhood. Who knew his Nazi tattoos would ever be in fashion?”

“Ha!” Ian barked out a laugh. Brad turned to him, glaring. Mickey took a big swig of his vodka tonic.

“Of course,” Mickey continued, “I wish he was a little more clear on where he stands when it comes to religion. But, since it looks like he’ll overturn Rode vs Way first chance he gets, I guess I don’t have to worry that those divorces mean he’s too liberal.”

“It’s Roe vs Wade, you cretin,” Brad spit out.

“Brad, would you help me in the kitchen, please?” Ian said, popping up out of his seat.

“What kind of help do you…” Brad’s sentence was cut off as Ian grabbed his upper arm and forcibly pulled him to his feet.

Once they got to the kitchen Ian whispered in a fierce tone, “Could you just leave Mickey alone, please?”

“ME?” Brad yelped.

“Yeah, you. You’re just egging him on, but those ‘convict’ and ‘cretin’ remarks were really low,” Ian continued in his pissed off whisper. “He’s a guest in your family home, treat him like one.”

“What? Why? He’s so beneath us…” Brad tried to argue.

“All the more reason to treat him better than you would an equal,” Ian said, his eyes blazing as he held Brad’s gaze. “He doesn’t know any better, you do. Act like it.”

“Why are you pissed at me?” Brad asked.

“You know where I live-that could be me,” Ian said. “If he wasn’t here taking all the heat, how would your family be taking me? A piece of South Side trash who doesn’t fit in?”

“Of course not, you’re not like him…”

“A few more bad decisions along the way in my life and I would be,” Ian insisted.

When they returned to the table, Mickey was back at the “bar”, mixing himself another drink. He knocked it back as he stood there, fixed up another, and made his way back to the table, looking a bit unstable on his feet.

For the rest of dinner, Brad stewed while Mickey pontificated on everything from the unemployment rate to the Cubs “buying” their World Series win, but remained silent.

After dinner there was a stampede to the bar. Mickey set himself up as bartender and actually did a kick ass job, imbibing himself all the while. Everyone’s mood started to brighten, and the noise level went up accordingly. Ian wasn’t drinking because of his meds, but Brad was free to drink as much as he wanted since he wasn’t driving, and he polished off a couple of martinis in quick succession.

Cyndi was apparently late for some other reason, since she started drinking with everyone else. She had to settle for a screwdriver since her family didn’t have any peach schnapps in the house. Mickey brought her a drink once everyone was taken care of for the moment. She took it from him with a “thank you” and then Mickey dropped down onto one knee.

“Cyndi, love of my life, will you marry me?” Cyndi’s high pitched squeal should’ve broken the glass in her hand.

“Really, Mickey? REALLY? Oh, you’ve made me soooo happy!” she beamed.

Joyce collapsed onto that chair again, clutching at her husband’s hand this time.

“Now, wait just one minute,” Rodney sputtered. “How long have you two even known each other?”

Mickey looked at Cyndi, who was beaming back at him. “Well, we met the night I got out of prison, so I’d say we’ve been banging for eight months and have considered ourselves exclusive for what? About four?” Cyndi nodded her head happily. “I moved in with her last March, since I was planning on living in the van when I got out, and after a few months had gone by and we were still together, we decided we’d stop banging other people.”

Rodney’s mouth was agape in disbelief. Brad couldn’t keep silent any longer.

“What about graduating from Northwestern? Isn’t next semester your last semester?” he asked.

“Oh, that’ll always be there, I can go back in a few years to pick up those last fifteen credits,” Cyndi purred, looking deeply into Mickey’s eyes.

“I ain’t got a ring or anything, but maybe one of your grandmas wants to give you some sort of heirloom or something,” Mickey said, but the two grandmothers sat stoically in their chairs and didn’t volunteer anything. “Oh well, I got a guy who can tattoo something on that finger,” Mickey promised. “Maybe a snake with a diamond in its mouth?”

Soon a whole new batch of relatives and friends arrived. Brad had explained to Ian that this was part of the tradition-people who had had dinner elsewhere dropped by to have dessert and take part of the annual family touch football game. Mickey went back to the bar, although most of the soon to be footballers were only having beer. Mickey continued to pound down the vodka tonics, however.

Everyone scattered to put on warm clothes for going outside, and Cyndi followed Ian to the guest room.

“Ian, could you do me a favor out there?” she asked.

“Sure, what is it?”

“Keep Brad away from Mickey as much as possible. I know Brad’s going to make you be on his team, and Mickey be on the other team, so could you try to be the one to guard Mickey? I can tell he really got under Brad’s skin and he’s so aggressive on all that testosterone I know he’ll pick a fight with Mickey as soon as he can. I don’t want Mickey getting hurt,” she said.

“Of course. I’ll do what I can,” Ian said.

“You kind of like him, don’t you?”

“Your brother? Of course.”

“No, not Brad, Mickey.”

Ian looked at the floor and smiled, a blush blooming on his cheeks.

“I _knew_ it!” Cyndi yelped, belting Ian on the arm and smiling. “I’ve seen how you look at him all afternoon. He’s making you laugh-and you made Brad shut up at dinner, when you dragged him out to the kitchen, didn’t you?   I knew that was all you.” Ian was nodding. He pulled a sweatshirt on over his head. When he popped through, Cyndi was still looking at him appraisingly. “Can I tell you a secret?” she asked.

Ian nodded.

“He’s not really my boyfriend-I found him on Craig’s List.”

Ian’s eyebrows rose to the top of his forehead. “You did what now?”

“I’m so sick of Brad getting all the attention at every family gathering, and this year when he was bragging about bringing his hot EMT boyfriend along, I just…I just couldn’t listen to my family go on about him and act as if I’m the family disappointment when all I’ve ever done is gone to school, worked part time jobs, and taken care of myself. I figured this year I’d give them something to be disappointed about.”

“So, you got in a van with a perfect stranger and drove down from Northwestern?” Ian said in disbelief.

“Of course not, we met in a public place on campus first a few weeks ago before I decided. He told me how his little sister lives on Long Island now and one night he and his older brother were trying to imagine her new boyfriend’s snooty family’s reaction to her coming home for the holidays, and they dreamt up how they could offer a service to anyone wanting to piss off their family, and that’s how they came up with the ad I answered. There’s a whole checklist of things Mickey was willing to do-the only one left is to start an actual fight outside for the neighbors to see. Um, can I trust you with why I could trust him?”

Ian nodded again-he was in this far…

“Mickey’s gay-he told me at that first meeting, and I believe him,” Cyndi said, watching for Ian’s reaction.

Ian rose his eyebrows slightly this time. “Is that so? Well, I’m pretty sure he’d only say that if it were true.”

“He wasn’t really motor boating me out there, he didn’t so much as glance at me once I started unbuttoning my blouse. You’re not going to tell any of this to Brad, are you? At least, not till after you go home? I’ll call my mother next week and tell her the whole thing was a ruse and why I did it-will you give me that much time?”

“Sure, Cyndi. No problem. I have a couple of sisters-and a very dysfunctional family-myself.” Ian grinned and she gave him a quick hug.

They went outside and teams for the touch football game were organized. Just as Cyndi had predicted, Ian was on Brad’s team and Mickey was on the other team. The game started out as good fun, and it was quickly apparent that Mickey and Ian were they best two athletes out there. Mickey was fast, the only reason Ian could even keep up with him was due to his longer legs.

At first everyone was getting a chance to play and they let all the little kids score, but as they dropped out due to boredom or tiredness, the game took on a more physical tone. Soon it all the older adults were sitting on the sidelines too, letting the late teens and twenty-somethings, with a couple of die-hard thirty to nearly fifty year olds, battle it out.

On one fourth and long, Ian made a spectacular downfield catch after an explosive run, and Mickey was right there and touched him lightly on the butt to end the play. He left his hands there a second or two longer than was strictly necessary after one of the uncle/umpires deemed the catch inbounds. Ian looked over his shoulder and grinned at Mickey.

“Nice tackle,” he complimented him with a wink.

“Great catch,” Mickey replied, giving Ian’s ass a friendly swat before he rejoined his team at the line of scrimmage.

The next time Mickey’s team was on offense, Brad said he wanted to cover Mickey.

“Brad, Ian’s the only one who can keep up with him,” one of Brad’s cousins said.

“Just let me try,” Brad said.

On the play, Mickey caught the ball, easily averting Brad and running it all the way in for a touchdown. Now Brad was really fuming, Ian could tell. Cyndi was right, he was aggressive. Ian had always sort of thought so, but where he came from, most guys were and he never really connected it to the hormones before. You had to be tough living in South Side, but not out here in the burbs.

Ian’s team was back on offense, and the quarterback was calling for Ian to go long again. Ian was tearing down the lawn, feeling Mickey just a step behind the whole way. The toss was high, so Ian left his feet hoping he could snare it out of the air, and Mickey jumped with him, hoping the throw would be just a tad short and Mickey could intercept, now that his body was in front of Ian’s since Ian had turned to attempt the catch. Right before the ball would’ve been in Mickey’s outstretched hand, Brad threw a flying tackle into Mickey and sent him sprawling into a rhododendron bush.

“Brad, what the fuck?” Ian shouted. “This isn’t tackle football! Mickey, Mickey, are you okay? Don’t move till I can check you over, okay?” Ian started running his hands up and down Mickey’s body.

“Get me out of this fucking bush,” Mickey growled.

“In a minute, in a minute. Does it hurt anywhere? Did you hit your head?”

“No I did not hit my fucking head, the bush broke my fall. Quit fussing,” Mickey groused.

Ian took both Mickey’s hands in his and pulled him up. There was a gash on his head bleeding profusely.

“Mickey, you have a cut on your forehead, it’s bleeding a lot, but head wounds do that. Let me clean you up and see if you need stitches.” Ian was speaking slowly and clearly. Mickey dropped Ian’s hands as soon as he was pulled clear of the plant and started walking across the lawn. Ian trotted after him.

“Where are you going?” Ian said.

“Don’t wanna bleed all over my good shirt,” Mickey yelled back.

Ian stopped and looked around, searching out Cyndi. “Do you have a first aid kit?” She nodded and took off running for the house. Ian resumed following Mickey to his van.

Mickey was standing outside the van, in the street, when Ian caught him up. He had his shirt unbuttoned, revealing a sleeveless black t shirt underneath. He opened the van door and threw his purple shirt inside.

“Mickey, come on, please. Sit down and let me look at that gash,” Ian said. “Are you diabetic or HIV positive or do you have any other condition that might impair your circulation or immune system?”  

Mickey shook his head no and leaned his butt against the driver’s bucket seat, but remained standing for the most part. Just then Brad came around the side of the van.

“What the fuck, Ian, it’s time to get back to the game,” he said.

“I need to see if Mickey needs stitches,” Ian said.

“He can drive himself to the ER, or Cyndi can,” Brad said, tugging at Ian’s arm. “Come on.”

“If he doesn’t need stitches, he’ll be sitting for hours at an ER, if he does need stitches, I’m taking him,” Ian said, his voice even.

“What? Why? Why does he get you to be his own personal EM twink?” Brad yelled.

“Is that all he is to you? Some twink?” Mickey said, a dangerous gleam in his eye. With his face all bloodied, he looked pretty ferocious. Brad took a step back.

Cyndi came running back with the first aid kit and some clean towels. Ian opened up the box and nodded.

“This is well stocked, should have almost everything I need. Cyndi, you stay here and don’t let Mickey go anywhere while I go wash my hands.” He took a towel and folded it, being careful to mainly hold it from one side. He gently pressed the untouched part to Mickey’s forehead and said, “Hold this here, with that much pressure till I get back. Can you do that?” He was looking right into Mickey’s eyes.

Mickey was annoyed, but muttered a yes.

Ian took Brad by the arm. “Come on, we need to talk for a minute.”

Ian was back quickly, and he was carrying a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. “I knew Joyce couldn’t be a natural blonde,” he said, smiling at Mickey. Then he shot a look at Cyndi. “Uh, sorry…”

“No, it’s fine. She’s got two brunette kids and her hair looks like straw-she’s not fooling anyone.”

“Your mom asked me to tell you it’s time to serve the pie,” Ian said. “You go ahead, we’ll be all right.”

“Okay, Mickey?” Cyndi asked.

“Sure,” Mickey smiled at her. “Go on.” She left.

Ian looked at Mickey. “So, where do you want to do this?”

“The back’s got the most room,” Mickey said. They walked around to the back and climbed inside, Mickey pulling the door closed behind them. There was a twin mattress on the floor of the van, which was carpeted with thick red shag.

“Wow,” Ian said, looking around in the gloom.

“Yeah,” Mickey said, turning on a Coleman lantern that he kept back there. “I, uh, sort of live here when I can’t be at home for various reasons, you know? Want me to start her up and turn the heat on?”

“Only if you’re feeling cold,” Ian said. “I’m used to waiting to turn the heat on till it snows, at home.”

“Really?” Mickey said, raising the eyebrow on the side of his head that wasn’t bleeding. “And where’s home?”

“Canaryville.”

“No shit? You’re South Side?” Mickey said, sounding a little surprised, but a lot pleased.

Ian grinned. “Yup-and I’m pretty sure you went to school with my brother Lip. You _are_ Mickey Milkovich, right?”

Mickey laughed. “Busted.” Ian had the first aid kit open again, and was taking out a package of sterilized gloves and antibiotic cream and some cotton pads and some band aids. He lined them up on the mattress next to Mickey, and then twisted the cap off the hydrogen peroxide and opened up the gloves.

“Can I tell you something?” Mickey asked. Ian nodded. “I’m not really drunk.”

Ian grinned. “I know.”

“Bullshit, you know. How do you know?” Mickey asked.

“Oh, believe me, you did a convincing job, especially as the afternoon went on. But your eyes never got glassy or red rimmed, that’s always a dead giveaway. But I think I’m the only one who noticed, and I only notice that kind of stuff because I tend to keep a cautious eye on drunks-old habit,” Ian said. “How did you not drink though? I was watching you, and even though I knew what I thought I was looking for, even I couldn’t tell how you did it.”

Mickey smiled, even when Ian pressed a peroxide soaked pad to his injury. “Well, the first key is you gotta use vodka-no good trying to pretend to drink gin because of the smell. But, the rest was easy, I had two glasses.   I’d pour vodka in one, go to get the tonic water, make the quick switcheroo, and just fill the new glass with tonic water instead, and add the lime twist.”

“But, where did the vodka go?” Ian asked, pausing to look right at Mickey, their faces close.

“In that plant they had next to the bar,” Mickey said. “If that ain’t a plastic ficus, I killed a tree for sure today.” Ian laughed, his puff of breath felt pleasant on Mickey’s face.

“So,” Mickey said, wanting to keep the conversation going while Ian was working on his cut, “Lip, huh? And, Ian? Gallagher? You’re Frank’s kids?” Ian nodded. “No wonder you know what ‘drunk’ looks like,” Mickey laughed. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Ian smiled. “When you said your dad was running around topless on election night, I almost burst right out laughing-I can just picture Terry Milkovich running through the Back of the Yards showing off his Third Reich tattoos.” They both laughed for a moment, then got quiet again.

“So…I’m not really with Cyndi, she uh, just sort of hired me for the day,” Mickey said.

Ian was putting some butterfly shaped band aids on the cut. “Yeah, she told me,” Ian said.   “Plus, I recognized you the moment I saw your eyes, who could forget those?”

Mickey didn’t know what to say to that. “Um, yeah, so, anyways, she told her parents I’m twenty-nine and we’re serious, but, you know, not true.”

“Yeah,” Ian agreed. “You’re Lip’s age.”

“And you’re Mandy’s age, right? Ain’t Brad a little young for you?”

Ian laughed softly and nodded. “Yeah, probably. We just broke up, though, so I don’t think it’ll be a problem anymore. Think I can catch a ride home with you guys?”

“You just broke up? Before you came here today?”

“No, just now, when I went to wash my hands,” Ian said, leaning back on his heels. “All set. You don’t need stitches, but you do need to change those band aids at least twice a day, morning and night, and use antibiotic cream every time, all right?”

“I will. Um, so, do you mind my asking…about you and Brad?” Mickey said.

“Feel free, what do you want to know?”

“Well, it was a long ride down, so Cyndi talked about Brad a lot, and about the money the family has given him, and about, um, bottom surgery, and how, uh, he hasn’t done it yet because of the cost plus he’s not sure if the medical technology is really there yet, so…”

“Yes?” Ian said.

“Well, I mean, what did you guys do? Act like it got shot off in Vietnam or something? Sorry if that’s insensitive or not politically correct or whatever…”

“No, Mickey, it’s a good point. And, yeah, you’re right, we did have to sort of work around it, around him not having…It’s probably a big reason why I always knew things weren’t going to work out for us. I’m really into cock.”

Mickey laughed in surprise at Ian’s blunt honesty. “’Happiness is a warm cock’ has always been my motto,” Mickey agreed.

Ian raised an eyebrow. “You don’t say?”

“Yeah, I do say,” Mickey said, all the Milkovich confidence and attitude Ian remembered from a decade ago packed into the statement. “Can’t remember the last time I had a blow job, though.” Mickey added quietly.

“In prison?” Ian suggested.

“Naw, you don’t let a guy get his teeth near you like that in there,” Mickey said.

“So, the felon part is true?” Ian asked. He had lost track of the Milkoviches when he dropped out of school, but it made a kind of sense if that’s where Mickey had wound up-it was somewhat of a family tradition.

“Yeah, criminal trespass of a vehicle, but like I said at dinner, wrong place, wrong time. Iggy had a buddy who was fucked up beyond all recognition and needed a ride, and Iggy was drunk, so I offered to drive the guy home in what I thought was his car. My first clue should’ve been ‘his’ car was a brand new Escalade. Anyway, long story short, he told me where to drop him off, it was just some street that had a row of bars on it, I didn’t even see where he went when he got out of the SUV, and he told me where to drop off the Escalade for him, but on my way there I got stopped because the back license plate light was out. The cops ran the plate and the registration didn’t match, so I got nabbed. Couldn’t afford the fine, so I got sentenced the max eleven months, got out in eight for good behavior.”

“Sorry,” said Ian.

“Not your fault, and to tell you the truth, it was a relief to be away from my old man for a while,” Mickey shrugged. “He, ah, sort of hates my guts since he found out I’m gay.”

Ian could well imagine. Terry Milkovich’s homophobia was the stuff of legend around the neighborhood.

“That’s a reason this mobile palace is so good to have,” Mickey said. “Found it on Craig’s List-the owner was looking to upgrade to a newer model. He gave his new ride the same paint job.”

Ian laughed. “Dude really must love Van Halen.”

“And puns,” Mickey said. “Get it? VAN Halen?”

Ian groaned. “Oh man, that’s bad.”

Mickey nodded. “The paint job makes it too unique to steal-well, that and the model year.”

Ian laughed. “Yeah, it’s gotta be about as old as me,” he said.

“It’s exactly as old as you,” Mickey said, his voice low, “since you’re the same age as Mandy, I mean.”

“Yeah…um, so, can I tell _you_ something?” Ian asked.

“Sure.”

“I had the biggest crush on you in high school. The day you dropped out was the darkest day of my entire school experience,” Ian said.

“Fuck off…” Mickey scoffed.

“No! It’s true-I would dream about your blue eyes every night.”

“You sap,” Mickey grinned. “Say I believe you-why didn’t you say anything? Why did you just admire me from afar?”

“Didn’t know you were gay,” Ian shrugged.

“You know now…” Mickey said, giving Ian a look.

“I know a lot of things now I didn’t know then…would you like me to show you?” Ian flirted.

“Please,” Mickey said, sincerely.

Ian grinned and shifted his weight from his heels back to his knees. He placed his hand on Mickey’s thigh and slowly slid it upwards. Mickey put his hand over Ian’s to still it for a moment.

“Um, before you do that, could I kiss you?” Mickey asked.

Ian blinked in surprise. “You want to kiss me?”

“If it’s okay…” Mickey said.

“It’s more than okay,” Ian said. He leaned in a placed his lips on Mickey’s. Mickey’s mouth was soft and pliant and the kiss was extremely pleasant. Ian felt himself relaxing into it and then Mickey’s tongue was gently licking the seam of Ian’s lips, so he opened his mouth a bit and Mickey turned the kiss into something even more wonderful He was easily the best kisser Ian had ever had the pleasure of kissing. “Wow,” Ian whispered, when they finally broke apart to breathe.

“You like it?” Mickey said, his eyes gleaming.

“Very much,” Ian sighed. “Your beard tickles too.” Ian leaned in and kissed Mickey again, this time bringing his hand up Mickey’s thigh unimpeded. He rubbed over Mickey’s jeans, and Mickey reached down to unfasten them. The kiss got more heated and Mickey lay back on his bed, Ian followed him down and unzipped Mickey’s jeans for him without breaking the kiss. He could feel Mickey’s body heat through his boxers, and he moaned into Mickey’s mouth.

Ian kissed his way down Mickey’s jaw and throat, and then used both hands to tug down Mickey’s pants and boxers. Mickey lifted his hips off the mattress to help him out. Ian took a moment to appreciate the view of Mickey’s cock, already half hard. Ian wrapped one of his hands around the base and sank down to put his mouth over the head. He lavished attention upon it with his tongue and lips. Mickey sunk his hands into Ian’s hair and rubbed his head with the heels of his hands.

“Oh, so good, Ian. You’re so good at that,” he purred.

Ian took him deeper and deeper, stroking Mickey’s balls with the side of his right index finger and massaging his left hand around the part of the shaft that didn’t fit into his mouth. He pulled his mouth up and off Mickey’s now hard cock and licked the underside of it, from the base back up to the tip a couple of times, then placed his mouth around it again and deep throated. Mickey threw his head back and let out a shuddering gasp. Ian hummed and began bobbing his head up and down, being careful not to let his teeth scrape Mickey too hard, and using his tongue nonstop.

“Ian, okay, Ian, I’m going to come, come on man, I’ve got a towel right here,” Mickey said, clutching one of the unused towels Cyndi had brought them.

Ian wouldn’t pull off, he wanted to taste Mickey, to feel his hot come shoot down his throat. He just put a thumbs up in front of where he estimated Mickey’s face was and hoped he’d understand the message. He licked and he sucked some more, Mickey’s fingers digging into his scalp now, and then with a shout, Mickey was coming. Ian swallowed down what he could, and pulled off of Mickey when the spurting subsided. Ian gave gentle little kisses to the side of Mickey’s penis as it softened. Mickey was petting his head softly now.

“Christ, Ian, that was so good. Thank you.” Mickey was one hundred percent sure he had never thanked anyone for a blow job before. But it just came out naturally, Ian deserved the praise. Ian finally looked up at Mickey again, and smiled. “Come here,” Mickey said, his voice low and sexy. Ian rearranged himself so he was lying on the bed looking at Mickey, and Mickey kissed him again. And again. Then they just lay on the bed looking at each other and touching each other for a bit.

“Gonna let me return the favor?” Mickey grinned.

“You could...” Ian said.

Mickey reached down to open up Ian’s pants. He slid his hand into the opening in Ian’s boxers and moaned. “Oh, man, maybe this isn’t the time, but could we plan on seeing each other again soon, please?” he said.

Ian laughed. “Of course, but, what?”

“Ian, I didn’t think I was a size queen, but I want what’s in my hand to be in me,” Mickey panted out.

“You’re a bottom?” Ian smiled.

“Well, I had to do all the fucking in the joint, didn’t want anyone to think I was their bitch, but, yeah, I’m a bottom. Liking what I like don’t make me a bitch.”

“Well put,” Ian agreed. “Uh, if it’s not too forward of me, I could go for some full on sex right now.”

“Yeah?” Mickey said excitedly.

“Oh, yeah,” Ian assured him. “Oh, shit. I don’t have anything with me, this was going to be a sex-free weekend with Brad…”

Mickey said, “Hold on,” and scrambled over to a red toolbox that was bolted to the floor of the van behind the passenger’s seat. He undid the latch and lifted the lid and took out lube and a condom. He tossed the stuff to Ian and redid the latch.

“Best Thanksgiving ever,” Ian smiled at Mickey.

“Yeah, get your clothes off,” Mickey said, cutting off the chit chat. They both scrambled out of their clothes, kicking off shoes and jeans and pushing everything out of their way. When Mickey saw Ian in his full glory, he bit his lip. Oh, this was going to be good.

“How do you want to do this?” Ian said.

“Kiss me again,” Mickey replied. Ian did so. This kiss was hot and raw and passionate, their tongues met and clashed and they each tried to keep deepening the kiss. Mickey reached between them and took Ian’s dick into his hand again, and stroked it with his thumb.

“Yeah, good, yeah,” Ian told him as they kissed.

Finally Mickey said, “Let me turn around.” He scooted forward on the mattress so he could place his hands on the wall of the van, since there wasn’t a headboard to use. Ian practically whimpered when he saw Mickey’s perfect ass.

“Mickey,” he breathed out reverentially, “this is gorgeous.” He cupped each of his big hands over Mickey’s perfect globes and squeezed gently. The skin was so soft, the muscles solid but pliant. Ian had never seen an ass so beautiful in his life. He sprinkled kisses all over Mickey’s shoulders and shoulder blades, his hands still full of Mickey’s cheeks. Then he wrapped his arms around Mickey’s waist, his erection poking into Mickey’s lower back, and nuzzled at Mickey’s face till he turned his head enough for Ian to kiss him again. Mickey loved feeling wrapped up in Ian’s arms.

Ian let his hands trail down and put one hand on Mickey’s hip and wrapped his right hand around Mickey’s cock, making little movements with his own hips into Mickey’s body. He stroked Mickey a few times, then reached for the lube. He slicked up his fingers and whispered right into Mickey’s ear, “You ready?” Mickey nodded and pushed his hands harder against the wall of the van. Ian slid a finger into Mickey gently, and then another. He moved them around a bit to stretch Mickey, and then he twisted them and crooked his fingers and found just the right spot.

Mickey arched his back more and moaned, “Yeah, right there.” Ian continued to let his fingers graze over the spot, kissing Mickey’s shoulders again while he did so. He added a third finger, and Mickey rocked back onto his hand and then forward again, getting a rhythm started. “You ready, Ian?” he gasped.

Ian smiled and replied, “Uh huh,” and picked up the condom with his free hand and carefully ripped it open with his teeth, making sure he only sunk his teeth into the package. Once it was open, he slid his fingers out of Mickey and rolled on the condom with both hands, after giving himself a tug out of habit, but he had been rock hard since he saw Mickey’s beautiful ass. He slicked himself up with lube, then guided himself slowly into Mickey, watching as Mickey’s body absorbed him. They were both gasping and moaning, the van filled up with their hot sounds.

Mickey leaned forward even more, and the change in position made it possible for Ian to get even deeper inside. They both stilled, Mickey getting used to being filled up. It felt wonderful. Mickey reached his hand back to put on Ian’s hip, and told him, “Move.”

Ian started off slowly, but Mickey was bucking back into him and extolling him to move faster and harder. Ian picked up his pace, snapping his hips against Mickey and pulling almost all the way out, only to watch as Mickey took him in again. They were both starting to get louder and louder, everything felt so good and so right.

Suddenly the van was filled with a whoosh of cold air. They both looked to the back of the van where the door had just been flung open.

“Jesus, really?” Brad shouted. “You break up with me and fifteen minutes later you’re fucking this piece of shit?”

“Fuck you, Brad! Don’t worry about it!” Ian yelled. “I fucking told you since we met I’m into cock-I sucked Mickey’s cock and I fucking love it!” Ian was still plunging into Mickey.

Mickey smiled at Brad, “Told you not to come knocking, Brad-pretty sure Ian’s got this van rocking, right?”

“You two suck!’ Brad shrieked, and slammed the door shut again.

Ian picked up the pace even more and Mickey grunted out, “Hold on a sec.” He dropped his hands from the wall so now he was on all fours. Ian draped himself over Mickey and held himself up with one hand on the bed while he sought out Mickey’s hot throbbing cock and started jerking him off, trying to time his thrusts with his strokes.

“Mickey, I’m close, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come!” Ian shouted, his hips losing their rhythm as his orgasm tore through him.

“Yeah, yeah, give it to me, Ian!” Mickey came, hitting the towel beneath him as Ian rode out his orgasm. Ian pulled out and kissed Mickey’s shoulder one more time, and they both collapsed away from the towel. Ian was on his back, and Mickey lifted himself onto his elbows so he could kiss Ian on the lips again. Then he reached down and carefully peeled the condom off Ian, tying it off and tossing it on the towel he had squirted on. “Think Joyce wants those towels back?” Mickey grinned.

Ian grabbed Mickey by the shoulders and kissed him breathless.

A little while later they were snuggled under Mickey’s blanket, still on the bed, still naked.

“Think we should go say goodbye to our hosts?” Ian said.

“It’s the polite thing to do,” Mickey observed. “I can thank them that I came twice within twenty minutes, and for the turkey and shit.”

Ian laughed. “Yeah, my bag’s in there too, and we need to get Cyndi.”

They got dressed, touching and kissing each other the whole while. “We’re going to see each other again, still, right?” Ian asked, not wanting this to ever end, truth be told.

“Yeah, I was thinking of asking you out tonight, actually,” Mickey smiled, and he was telling the truth.

“I’m free!” Ian smiled.

They went to the house and rang the bell. Cyndi answered the door, a big smile on her face.

“Ready to go, guys?” she asked. “Ian, let me get your bag for you.” She took off and Ian and Mickey thanked their mortified hosts for the lovely Thanksgiving dinner.

“Thanks for letting us come,” Mickey snarked. Ian looked at him like he was the wittiest wit ever.

On their way down to the van, Mickey asked Cyndi, “Can you drive?” She nodded. Mickey turned to Ian.

“Ever have sex in a moving vehicle?” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah, bye, Brad! I'm sure you recognized a bunch of Shameless lines, and two specific things I got from other sources are 1:the joke about Joyce having letters tattooed on her butt with her own O in the middle was from Son Of Zorn; and 2: the line about sex in a canoe is something David Sedaris said his brother said in real life (I believe Paul Sedaris was referring to light beer). 
> 
> I also made Mickey a bit younger than the online posting, and made Ian a bit older than he is on the show right now. Since we know nothing about Brad, I just made him Elliot's real life age.
> 
> On a bit of a personal note, it will always be my contention that Shameless did Ian and the gay community a great disservice by not letting him at least state why he's "into cock", what he enjoys about having sex, what he specifically likes about penises. It's not "wrong" for him to desire and enjoy the weight, taste, and feel of one during sex. They should have at least let him and Trevor have a discussion, but, no, ew, gross, we're a comedy, we don't want to contemplate why one man would enjoy anything about another man's penis. The show seemed to just blindly insist that NOT wanting to have sex with a trans man would've been "wrong" of Ian. They just made it seem so wrong and like Ian was forced into it since he had no proof that he wouldn't like it. And don't even get me started on their claim he'd never bottomed...
> 
> I hope everyone has a Happy Thanksgiving-and if you're reading this from outside the US, I hope you have a happy Thursday!
> 
> Just adding another note here: I got the information on bottom surgery that I use in the story from a You Tube video Elliot Fletcher made.


End file.
